


A Lover, And A Fighter

by the_technicolor_whiscash



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, going for a walk in central park
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 12:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20173924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_technicolor_whiscash/pseuds/the_technicolor_whiscash
Summary: John reassesses his friendship with Harold, and realizes that perhaps the feelings he harbors represent something more than just friendship.





	A Lover, And A Fighter

**Author's Note:**

> Hey what up guys I’m back and I guess I’m writing poi fics now   
I’ve seen three seasons of the show and the one thing I know for sure is that Harold and John would definitely be in love if the writers weren’t cowards because I think John just falls in love with anybody who’s nice to him lmao

There was always that phrase. “He’s a lover, not a fighter.” It typically designated someone who preferred to get past trouble with kindness, as opposed to fists. John, when he thought about the phrase, wondered why the two had to be mutually exclusive. 

He had spent his whole life fighting. Fighting in the army, fighting for the CIA, fighting for his life. And he was still fighting now, though he had better reasons. He spent his days trying to help people. Even if it did mean punching out a few guys here and there. So yes, John was a fighter. 

But the thing was, John was also a lover. He loved Jessica, even now, years after her death. He loved Carter, his dearest friend. Shaw, he loved her style, her loyalty, her willingness to help in nasty situations. Hell, he even loved Fusco, with his blunt humor providing relief from an often too-serious lifestyle. He loved them all, with the warm love one gives to a friend. 

There was, however, a different sort of love he felt towards Harold. Harold, the dorky computer programmer. Harold, the man who refused to use guns, even when his life was in danger. Harold, who spent his days more focused on the wellbeing of others than of himself. The love John felt towards Harold was something altogether different. It was, admittedly, confusing at first. But when John saw Harold smile after they saved a number, or while playing fetch with Bear, John realized that this was definitely something beyond a friendly affection. 

That, and the fact he got a boner whenever Harold used _that particular voice_ over the phone. 

This morning, Harold hadn’t called him, which likely meant there was no number yet. Regardless, he still went into the library, choosing to climb in through the window. It wasn’t necessary, but it was always good to keep up your climbing skills, especially when one hand is busy trying to balance a tray with one cup of coffee and one of sencha green tea. 

Bear, naturally, was happy to see him, and immediately ran in front of his legs. It took him a minute to negotiate with the dog in order to work his way to the center of the library, where Harold sat, as always, facing his computer. 

“Mr Reese. I see you’ve elected to use the window again,” Harold said, not looking up from his computer. “I do hope you haven’t scuffed the sill like you did last time.”

Ah. Right. Well, last time he had been racing Shaw. She won, by a hair. John decided not to bring that up. “No new number?”

“Not yet. You didn’t need to come in, though I do appreciate the tea.” 

“Have you had breakfast yet? That diner you like is just down the street. I’m sure the machine would let you go for a half an hour.”

Harold raised an eyebrow. “Still trying to get me to talk about myself?”

“Maybe I just want a nice breakfast with a colleague.” A blatant lie. Really, by this point, John didn’t much care about prying into the Mysterious Billionaire’s private life. They had been through enough together already, and he respected Harold’s privacy. He kept up the banter, though, because it was always interesting to see how Harold reacted to it. 

“I did already have breakfast, and I’m sure you can figure out where, if you decide your time is best dedicated to the pursuit of where I choose to eat.”

“Has Bear been out yet?”

“He has.”

“Well look at that. I feel almost obsolete.”

That was enough to evict a glance from Harold. “I’m sure you can find something that needs to get done, Mr Reese. Perhaps returning the books on the return cart to their proper places, as I haven’t gotten around to doing it yet.”

John eyed the cart, filled with books from the previous few days’ numbers. It was menial, but he didn’t really have anything better to do. And he knew Harold’s back prevented him from replacing the books more often than he admitted. So, wordlessly, John wheeled the cart over to a shelf and began examining the numbers, finding their proper places in the vast array. 

It took him a while to get them all returned, since it involved him climbing up and down the treacherously rickety library ladder. When he was done, his hands were caked in dust, from books nobody had bothered touching in years. Admittedly he had cheated with the last few, climbing up the shelves themselves instead of dragging the ladder over. Hopefully, Harold’s watchful eye wouldn’t notice the footprints in the dust. 

“That’s done with.” John said, wiping the dust off his hands as he walked back to Harold. 

For a few seconds, Harold didn’t speak. John wondered if he was so engrossed in his work that Harold hadn’t even noticed John’s approach. Finally, his fingers stopped on the keyboard. John had always liked Harold’s hands. They were so skilled at typing, and part of him wondered what else they could do. But that wasn’t really conducive to a good work environment, and thus he pushed those thoughts to the side. 

“You’ve been at that all day. Want to help me take Bear for a walk?” John asked. 

“I really should get this done. It’s for one of my cover I.D.’s. Creating a whole new person out of nothing, that’s time consuming.”

“Come on. Fifteen minutes won’t kill you.” John grabbed Bear’s leash, and the dog’s tail wagged wildly. “I think Bear wants you to go.”

Harold stared at the dog. Then he stood. “I suppose you’re right. A few minutes won’t kill me. But on one condition.”

“Of course.”

John’s heart jumped at the playful smile that crossed Harold’s face. “I get to walk Bear.”

—————

Fifteen minutes had turned into much longer, considering the fact they had stopped for coffee. Naturally, Harold paid. Bear received a complimentary dog cookie, which he seemed very happy about. They sat on a bench in Central Park, the brisk wind of late fall sending a chill through John’s body. He was used to the scorching heat of the desert, or the freezing cold of Siberia. But New York weather was always a surprise, and never quite pleasant.

“I wonder if it’ll snow.” John said, looking to the grey sky. 

“It doesn’t typically snow this early in the year, but you never know. I have seen snow as early as Halloween.” Leave it to Harold to know the local weather patterns. 

“I have to say, Central Park isn’t quite so pretty when all the trees are dead.”

“Not dead. Just sleeping. Waiting for the spring, so they can photosynthesize again.” 

John smiled. He loved that way in which Harold talked. It was just the right level of peculiar to be utterly charming. The man was just as smart as the Machine he had built. “I can see why. Winter in New York isn’t the most fun place to be.”

“Well, at least it makes our jobs easier. Less people are committing violent crimes in the winter.”

“Probably because nobody wants to go outside. A freak blizzard’s enough to stop anyone’s plans for murder.” John watched the steam from his own breath disappear into the air. “Why do you decide to stay up here, instead of jetting down to Florida for the winter? I know you can afford it.” Knowing Harold, he probably had half a dozen safe houses in Florida and a private suite at Disney World. 

Harold thought for a moment. He always seemed to be thinking. Thinking about his next word, his next action. His next escape. “Obligation, I suppose. Even though there is a downtick in the amount of numbers we receive, they’re still coming. I don’t think I could abandon those people in need just because I’m not fond of how the cold makes my joints ache.” 

John turned to Harold, gazing at the man who stubbornly avoided eye contact. He didn’t mind. One thing you learn, after working with so many people, is that some just don’t like looking you in the eye. Could be something mental, could be they’re hiding something, could be they’re lying. The important thing was, he knew it didn’t mean anything negative. Not from Harold, at least. “You could still run the Machine from somewhere warmer. Contact the rest of us through phones while sipping mai-tai’s on the beach.” 

“The thing is, I don’t know if I’d like that. I’d rather be at least somewhat close to the action, should I be required to step in.” Harold turned to face John. “What’s all this about?”

“Can’t a man just enjoy getting to know his employer better?”

“You can hardly call me your employer, Mr Reese. Colleague or associate, maybe. Employer makes it seem like I’m higher up than you.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I should like to imagine we’re even on the corporate ladder, if one can be applied to our situation. Just because I pay you doesn’t mean I’m more important than you in the scheme of things. Often times, you’re more important than I am.” Harold returned his gaze to the middle distance in front of him. “You’re free to leave at any time, if you did decide you wanted to go to Florida yourself. Though I would likely protest, I would respect your decision.”

John was suddenly and painfully aware of the singular wrought-iron arm of the bench being the only thing separating the two of them, and the fact that his hand was one swift motion away from clasping Harold’s. Naturally, Harold had thought to wear gloves on their walk. John had not had the foresight to do so. John felt his mouth go dry, and before he knew it, he spoke, “If I left, would you miss me?”

He instantly worried it was the wrong thing to say. He knew Harold would retreat back into his shell, revealing no further information about the man within. John felt his ears go pink, and hoped that Harold would think it was just from the cold. 

There was a long, agonizing pause before Harold spoke again. “I would. You’re a good man, John, and I should hate to lose you, even if it were just for the winter months.”

There was that voice. That tone, that made John wonder and hope that perhaps this wasn’t just some pointless one-sided crush. That maybe Harold reciprocated his feelings in one way or another. 

Hesitantly, as though it might somehow burn him, John moved his hand over Harold’s. Harold finally faced him again, eyes wide in a cacophony of emotion. “Harold,” John said, “I-“

Bear shocked them both out of the moment, barking at a man running across the park. The man was being pursued by a group of thugs, and was someone that John could instantly recognize.

“Leon.” John muttered. 

Leon was currently holding an open backpack, bills flying out of it. If John had to wager a guess, they were counterfeit. Leave it to Leon to ruin a moment. 

A pay phone rang beside them. John glanced at Harold, before nodding towards it. “How much do you wanna bet that’s about him?”

“It’s almost a guarantee.” 

John stood, snapping Bear into action. The dog tore across the park, taking down one of the assailants with a bite to the leg. John was close behind, tripping one of the thugs facefirst into the dirt and taking out the other with a swift punch to the head. 

Leon laughed anxiously. “Funny seeing you again.”

“Ha ha.” John replied. He turned to Harold, who was standing by the pay phone. Harold nodded. Of course the number had been Leon. Again. “I thought we had agreed you were done with this.”

“I was! But then some guys told me about this money-making scheme, and I thought well, that can’t go wrong, but I didn’t know they meant actually making money! I’m all for embezzlement, but I draw the line at counterfeiting.”

“Oh, that’s great. You draw the line at counterfeiting.”

“Yeah. So I figured, what could be the harm in taking some?”

John sighed a long-tortured sigh. “You can’t keep doing this, Leon, because one day, we aren’t going to be here to save you.”

“I get it, I get it. That’s why I’m moving my operation. Screw New York, I’m heading to Bermuda. Blue skies every day, babes laying across beaches, and nobody who knows my past crimes.” Bear growled, causing Leon to jump. “Jesus, do you always have to have the hellhound with you? Thing’s a menace!”

Bear trotted over to John’s side, sitting politely. John gave him a treat. “I just don’t think he likes you very much. Now, do we need to get you set up in a safe house, or have you figured something out?”

“Man, I’m leaving the country tonight. After this, I swear, you’ll never see me again.”

“Do you promise?”

“Oh yeah, 100%.”

Somehow, John didn’t quite believe that. But he left Leon to his own devices. Turning around, he found that Harold had left. Probably back to the library. 

_Shit._ John thought. He had messed it up, and now things were going to be awkward, and Harold would be even more reclusive than normal. The thought burned him inside. 

Trying not to seem like he was desperate, he made his way back to the library at a semi-casual jogging pace. Bear seemed happy about this turn of events, and galloped beside him. On his way, he planned how he was going to approach this. How he was going to get this sorted out. Maybe he should play it off as something else. Haha, no, I’m not in love with you, my hand was just cold. Which is probably the worst, but was the only excuse he could think of. 

“Harold.” John said, slightly breathless and pink-cheeked from the jog. Harold was seated at his computer, though his fingers seemed to move significantly less fluidly over the keyboard than they had this morning. 

“John.” Harold muttered. He didn’t look at John, only handing a treat to Bear before returning his attention to his screen. The man was visibly tense, even more so than usual. 

“Do we wanna talk about our little moment back there on the bench?”

Harold closed his eyes, taking a breath. “That depends on the outcome.” 

John put a hand on Harold’s shoulder, turning the man’s chair towards him. He could hear Harold’s breath falter as John brought a hand up to cup his cheek. John pressed his lips to Harold’s and, after an excruciating moment’s hesitation, Harold kissed back. As John’s lips parted, Harold gave a sigh that sounded an awful lot like relief. 

“Harold.” John whispered reverently against Harold’s lips. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” 

“I… I want to. I recognize that this is probably a bad idea, and we’ll both probably end up regretting it in the future.”

“But?” 

“But I’m tired of waiting.” Harold said, kissing John again. 

“Good.” John smiled when they pulled apart. “You shouldn’t have to put aside your own happiness for the sake of others.”

“You’re right, of course. I think it’s taken me a long time to realize that. And I think you are a part of that happiness.” 

“I’m glad.” John kissed Harold again. And again. And again.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this is ooc it’s my first fic for poi and I haven’t quite gotten the characters figured out yet but practice makes perfect and I know this won’t be my only fic for it because I adore these characters and would love to write more for them.


End file.
